


Wrath of the Lion

by lyriumlovesong



Series: The Rabbit and The Lion [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Cullen, Angry Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Battle, Blood and Gore, Clan Lavellan - Freeform, Dragon Age Quest: Protect Clan Lavellan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Revenge, The Lion of Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One single raven was all that separated Freya's clan from either salvation or destruction. When they are slaughtered at the hands of Red Templars, vengeance is the only option for Commander Cullen, and Freya must follow him across Thedas to save him from his own reckless impulse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last of Her Kind

“You must be mistaken. There’s no way, that’s… It _can’t_ be.”

Cullen Rutherford shook his head, his jaw clamped tight, refusing to believe what Leliana had just told him. She looked at him, her expression solemn, and handed him a battered-looking piece of parchment. He read it over twice, the words slipping through his mind like a sieve as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

_Most of the clan is already dead... You carry Clan Lavellan with you... They are coming for us._

“We did everything we should have, made the best decisions we could--” Josephine said, her voice shaking. The Commander slammed his fist on the war table, jarring all the pieces on the map and making the Ambassador jump.

“Do you think I _care?_  Do you think that will matter to _her_?” he barked.

Cullen snatched up the marker that had been stationed on top of Wycome, turning it over and over in his hands. Freya’s whole clan… _gone_.

“We have people searching the wilderness near the city for survivors, but… it doesn’t look good,” Leliana said, staring down at the floor. There was silence for a full five minutes as they all stood there, each privately blaming themselves.

“Who’s going to tell her?” he asked finally, looking up with red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ll do it,” said Leliana. “This is my fault. My assassins killed the Duke and set this in motion.”

Cullen didn’t argue the point. He couldn’t think straight, not with the effort of keeping his composure consuming so much of his energy. And then the door opened, and in walked the Inquisitor.

“Evening!” Freya said brightly. But her grin faded quickly as she eyed the scene in front of her--the scattered and toppled place markers on the war table, Josephine looking as if she was about to burst into tears, Leliana staring at the floor, Cullen with a crumpled piece of paper in one hand and the small metal placeholder still in his other. He was fidgeting with it, avoiding her gaze.

“Is... something the matter?” she asked, looking around at them all.

“Close the door, Inquisitor,” Cullen said in a choked voice. She did as she was told, then approached the war table, hesitant. She scanned it, looking for a vacant spot where the piece in the Commander’s hand belonged. She spotted it almost instantly. There was no placeholder in the Free Marches anymore.

Wycome. Her clan. Her _family_.

“What is it?” she asked, not even attempting to mask the panic in her voice. “What’s happened to my people?”

Leliana spoke, her voice thick.

“We made a… a tactical error. My agents killed the duke after learning he was behind the attack on Clan Lavellan. The nobles and soldiers in Wycome retaliated... Everyone was slain.”

“No,” whispered Freya, almost inaudible to the others. She shook her head, her voice louder and breaking as she repeated the word. “ _No_.”

She looked up at Cullen, who was looking at her from the other side of the table. His eyes were wet. The Ambassador spoke up, her voice shaking.

“Inquisitor, I’m so--”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. _Don’t_.” The elf’s voice was cold.

“We sent troops, Inquisitor. Spies. We attempted to appeal directly to the duke himself. We tried everything we could think of, everything you asked,” Josephine went on, her voice almost pleading.

“Shut up, Josephine. _Just. Shut. Up_. Don’t try to use that silver tongue of yours on me. Not today. _Every_ order I gave, I gave on the advice I got _from the three of you_.”

Her voice was rising now, and her knees felt like they were going to buckle. As she reeled in place, Leliana made to steady her, but Freya pushed her away.

“No! I don’t need your help. You’ve done plenty. All my people are _slaughtered_ , and you call it a _tactical error_ ? Go _fuck_ yourself, Leliana! And _you_ ,” she spat, turning back to Cullen. “You _promised_ me! You said you’d do everything you could. _You looked me in the eye and you SWORE you would keep them SAFE!_ ”

She screamed the last sentence at him, her eyes flashing, the angry words echoing around the room. He swallowed hard, watching as she put her head in her hands.

“Freya,” he whispered hoarsely, stepping toward her, but she turned her back on him and stood there for one brief second, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body. Then she strode toward the door, one arm over her eyes as she bawled into her sleeve. He followed, placing a hand on her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob. She whirled to face him, and Cullen saw a flame in her eyes he had never seen there before, even when she had been embroiled in battle. Tears streamed down her face as she hissed at him through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Commander.”

  
And she stormed out, slamming the door in his face.


	2. Us Cookies

“Buckles! Come on, open up. You’ve been in there for a day and a half!”

Sera’s insistent shouting on the other side of the door was accompanied by a loud banging that made Freya’s head throb.

“You have to come out. Or else let someone in. Either way, you gotta eat something, yeah? Don’t make me throw a jar of bees up through the balcony, because if you don’t think I’ll do it, you’re wrong.”

Freya opened the door and peered out. Sera stopped with her hand in mid-air, ready to bang on the wood again.

“Oh! Good then, my knuckles were about to get blood on your door. Cripes, but you look _terrible_.”

“What is it you need, Sera?” Freya asked, trying to be patient.

“Nothing. Not a thing. But _you_ do.”

She pushed past the Inquisitor and darted up the stone steps to the bedchamber, taking the stairs two at a time. Freya sighed and shut the door behind her, following slowly.

“Well, slap my arse and call me ‘Andraste.’ Look at this place! You’ve got windows as tall as three yous! Bet they’re even better with the drapes off ‘em. Makes it too dark in here. And look at your fancy-pants bed! How’s it bounce?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Freya said, reaching the top of the steps and walking over to her settee. She sank down on it, too exhausted to protest Sera’s rather loud intrusion.

“Well, that’s a problem, innit? You have to test things like that, you know. How you supposed to know if a bed’s any good if you don’t test its bounce?”

She turned around to face the Inquisitor, who had her head resting on one palm, looking blankly at the carpet. She frowned and crossed to the seat beside her, sitting down heavily.

“I’m a little bit shit at this part, I admit,” Sera said, her voice quieting, “but for what it’s worth, I’ll sit my arse on this fancy couch with you until you tell me to get gone. It’s okay if that’s right away. Or if it’s tomorrow. Or in a week.”

Freya looked up, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. Sera put an arm around her, and Freya buried her head in Sera’s shoulder. The sobs overtook her again, and she let herself melt into her friend’s embrace, allowing someone else to hold her up for the first time since she’d received the news.

“That’s it, Buckles. Let it out. When sadness gets trapped inside of you, it does all kinds of mean things. Makes you not want to get out of bed, or talk to your friends, or eat cookies. Did I tell you I brought cookies? None of that raisin trash, either. Chocolate for the Inquisitor, or nothing at all, right?”

A single breathless gasp of laughter escaped Freya’s lips at this, and she looked up to see Sera proudly holding up a sack.

“Here,” she said, setting it in her lap and reaching in. “Might want to mop your face up a bit. Wet cookies taste rubbish.”

She took out a golden-brown cookie from the bag, turning it around in front of them so Freya could examine it.

“Not as much chocolate chips as you need today, right? We’ll find a better one.”

She dug into the sack again and again and pulled out several cookies in turn, inspecting each of them for chocolate content and throwing them back in when they didn’t pass muster. She finally found one that met her high standards, and she handed it over.

“I know that a cookie won’t make it up for your people being killed,” she said, “but I had to start somewhere. An’ you’ve gotta eat. So I baked you these. Don’t worry, there’s not any eggshells in these ones. I gave those to Bull. He crams them so fast he wouldn’t even notice, would he?”

Freya found herself smiling in spite of the sorrow that still gripped her. Sera had made cookies, just like they had talked about one evening on the rooftops together. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“I thought we were supposed to make cookies _together_?” she asked, taking the treat from Sera with a shaking hand.

“Well, yeah, we were. But then we had to go to that Fadey place, and then you’ve been busy all gettin’ ready for Empress Whatsit’s big fancy do, right? And then… _this_ happened. And I just figured you probably weren’t in the mood for anything like baking. So I made them _for_ you, instead. They’re still _us_ cookies, though, even if you didn’t help.”

Freya felt like she was going to cry again, though this time for an entirely different reason. She sniffled loudly.

“Sera, I… _thank you_.”

She took a huge bite of the cookie, recognizing her own hunger, finally, and feeling ravenous. She chewed silently for a moment, savoring the mouthfuls of sweet crumbs and rich, creamy chocolate. Looking up, she saw that Sera was watching her eagerly, on tenterhooks for a reaction.

“It’s delicious,” she said thickly around the bite she’d just taken. “Just what I needed.”

“Good. Can’t give Inquisitor Buckles shit cookies, can I? Defeats the entire purpose.”

Sera sat there quietly again for a minute, then looked up at Freya. She fidgeted with the edge of the sack.

“Everyone’s a mess worryin’ about you,” she said. “Varric’s been at the tavern since noon trying to drown himself in ale. Bull keeps punching furniture, turned a table in the dining hall to toothpicks. Dorian’s been on about killing every noble in the entire Free Marches, got sparks flying from his fingers and all. I haven’t seen Josephine or Leliana leave the war table all day. And Cully--I mean, the Commander--he was a _wreck_. Passed me on his way out the war room yesterday after you left, and I could swear he was crying. Never seen a bloke _cry_ before... Shut himself up in his tower for a night, then left Skyhold quick as anything, didn't he?”

“ _What_?” Freya asked, frozen. The rest of her cookie dropped into her lap without her noticing.  
  
“Yeah. Wait, you didn’t _know_ ?” Sera asked. “I figured maybe someone was communicating with you. Ravens through the window or something, keeping you told what’s up even though you won’t come out. He took a bunch of his men and marched out at sunup this morn--hey, where you going? You didn’t finish your cookie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do know that it's not canon for Quizzie to get a nickname from Sera unless she's romanced, but Buckles is just too fun to pass up, so I'm using it for their platonic relationship, too.


	3. Marching Orders

The door to the war room shot open with a thundering bang that reverberated all the way out through the main hall. Freya marched up to the table. Her appearance was alarming to the two women, who were used to an unconventional but generally polished Inquisitor, aesthetically speaking. Long red hair, normally plaited and secured tightly at her nape, was now hanging loose and wild over her shoulders. Her ordinarily wide, bright eyes were puffy and red from hours of crying, her nose and cheeks shiny and flushed.

She glared between the two of them, her breaths heaving. Leliana privately thought to herself that she wouldn’t be surprised if a jet of fire issued from between her lips.

“Where is he? Where did he go?”

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said, shooting a worried look at Leliana. “How are you feeling? Have you eate--”

“Do _not_ try to deflect, Josie. _Where did our Commander go_?”

“He left this morning,” Leliana told her, looking equally apprehensive. “We believe he’s headed to the Free Marches. I’ve sent scouts to follow him and keep us informed of his--”

“Why wasn’t I _asked_ about this?” Freya shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “Aren’t missions supposed to be cleared by the Inquisitor, or did you guys just change the rules on me?”

“ _We_ weren’t informed, Inquisitor,” said Josephine. “Commander Rutherford took troops of his own volition early this morning and marched without being given official orders to do so.”

The elf began pacing in front of the war table, her heart pounding. She couldn’t believe it. Her whole family slaughtered, now the man she loved rushing out to fight a battle without so much as a goodbye? What if he was hurt? What if something _worse_ …?

She paused, her arms wrapped around her own chest. Looking up at the dismayed faces of her advisors, she realized she would need their help for what would have to come next.

“What do we know?” she asked Leliana, her voice measured but shaky.

“The last report I received said that scouts witnessed nobles and heavily armed soldiers advancing on… on your clan. And there is evidence to suggest red lyrium may have been involved.”

“ _What_?” asked Freya, her eyes widening.

Leliana nodded.

“I have to go after him,” the Inquisitor said, looking from one to the other. “I need to take people and go _help_ him.”

“We can’t afford to send more people,” Leliana protested. “I’m sorry, but the Commander already left us short-handed by taking troops. We can’t have you taking more of our best fighters away.”

“And the Empress’s ball is approaching fast,” Josephine interjected. “The travel times alone… it would be cutting it very th--”

“Oh,  _blow me_ , Josephine!” Freya shouted. The Ambassador’s jaw fell open. “Take your stupid party and stick it up your noble _ass_. Don’t you two _get_ it? These are _RED TEMPLARS_ we’re talking about here! Do you even _comprehend_ what that means for Cullen and his men? I’ve fought these soldiers. I know what they can do. They’re… _inhuman_. I’m not letting him walk into that without aid! We’re dispatching a team, _and that is an order from your Inquisitor_!”

Leliana and Josephine stared at Freya, who had balled her hands into tight fists, her knuckles white. Past her and down the hallway, a small crowd had amassed around the open door leading to the main hall.

“Tell Cassandra I want her with me,” Freya told them, turning to leave.

“She’s gone,” Leliana replied.

“ _Gone_?” She turned back around. “Gone _where_?”

“Seeker Pentaghast marched with Commander Rutherford this morning,” Josephine told her. “There was a note left in her quarters.”

Freya felt her heart swell. Cassie might be prickly, but this show of loyalty left no doubt in her mind that the Seeker’s friendship was as solid as her shield.

“Ha!” she exclaimed, cold smile triumphant, and she whirled and rushed out the door, shouting behind her, “I leave in an hour! Have rations prepared.”

_________________________  


Outside the door to the war room, several of the Inquisition’s best agents had assembled, some attracted by the sounds of Freya’s shouting, others called in by Sera, who’d hollered out at them from the Inquisitor’s balcony to get their attention. The Inquisitor looked around and pointed to several of them in turn, calling out their names.

“Bull, Dorian, Varric, Sera, Solas. You’re my team for this. The rest of you, I need you to stay behind and help keep things running. We still have outstanding missions to do from Skyhold, so I’m trusting you to give your full support to Leliana and Josephine.”

Solas had a hardened look on his face, his angry gaze locked on her.

“Good. The the destruction of your clan  _cannot_ stand without retribution,” he said. “I would not be left behind today.”

Freya nodded at the elf.

“When we leaving, then?” Sera asked, looking as if she’d just been told they were going for ice creams.

“I need you five to ready yourselves and meet me at the bridge in one hour. Blackwall, can you visit the stables and tell Master Dennet to get mounts saddled for war?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“All right. Let’s go get our Commander back.”

Freya turned to head back to her quarters and prepare, but Cole caught her arm as the rest of them dispersed. It felt as though someone had pressed a block of ice where his hand gently gripped her.

“He’s afraid.”

“What?” Freya asked, peering under the wide brim of Cole’s hat, trying to catch his eyes. “Cole, _who’s_ afraid? Cullen?”

“He doesn’t fear the Red Ones. His heart burns, and his fury will stoke the flames. But he fears you are lost to him. He doesn’t care if he dies.” Cole released her arm and turned his head away, looking toward the gates now as he spoke.   


“They will know the wrath of the Lion.”


	4. Infantry

“Our scouts report that the Templar encampment is less than a day’s march from here,” Cassandra Pentaghast said, the flickering light of the campfire mirrored in her eyes. “If we march just before dawn, we can reach them tomorrow.”  
  
“Good,” Cullen said, running a whetstone along the edge of his sword. It zinged merrily as it met metal, the sound bouncing off the trees surrounding them and making it seem as though half a dozen more blades were being honed out of sight somewhere in the woods.

It had been ten days since they had left Skyhold--seven days marching, one on a boat across the Waking Sea, and two more pushing through the stormy coastal lands of the Free Marches. His men were wet, sore, and exhausted. He knew he was pushing them to the limit, forcing a quick march for most of the daylight hours, allowing precious little sleep in between appearances of the sun. But he _had_ to reach the Templars before they left the Free Marches.

He would not let this go unanswered, and if he fell in the fight, well, at least she would know he had fallen fighting for _her_. He had failed her twice now. He could not allow it a third time.

“We break camp an hour before daybreak. Let the troops know,” he told Cassandra, giving the whetstone an unnecessarily vigorous swipe.

“Yes, Commander.” She paused, watching him channel his rage into the readying of his weapon. “There is one other thing you should know.”

“What is it?”

“We are being pursued.”

Cullen looked up at her, eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean, _pursued?_ ” he asked. “By whom?”

To his surprise, the corner of the Seeker’s mouth twitched into the slightest flicker of a grin.

“Six riders suited for battle, a few hours behind us. It appears to be two elves, a dwarf, a Tevinter mage, and a Qunari warrior. Led by a red-headed elven woman riding a huge stag.”

Cullen’s heart beat a fast tattoo against the inside of his breastplate. She’d _followed_ him? That wasn’t the way this was supposed to happen. Panic gripped him as he imagined Red Templars swarming her mount, unseating her and cutting her down.

“What is she _thinking?_ ” he hissed, throwing the whetstone aside. “I left her in the keep where she’d be _safe_. She’s not supposed to come after me and go riding right into the jaws of death. Why didn’t she stay behind?”

Cassandra made an impatient huffing sound, one Cullen had heard her put into practice often. She stared at him, crossing her gauntlets over her chest.

“She followed you because she _loves_ you, you _idiot_.”

Cullen turned the hilt of his sword back and forth in his hands, watching the firelight flash in the reflection of the polished steel.

“That may have been true once,” he said quietly, “but those days are past. I broke a promise to her.”

“You assume much about our friend, and I feel it unwarranted. She has shown compassion in her judgment on the Inquisitor’s throne. What makes you think she would not show the same forgiveness to you?”

“Because none of those people killed her _family_ , Cassandra.”

“ _You_ didn’t kill her family either, Commander. The Red Templars did. And for that, they will pay-- _dearly_. But how long will you punish yourself like this for a crime you didn’t commit?”

“The Templars advanced on the Lavellan Clan _because of decisions I helped her make!_ ” Cullen shouted, pointing his finger at his own chest. Men paused in their work around the campsite, staring. “Their blood is on _my_ _hands!_ ”

There was a pause. Then his voice quieted again, and he turned, looking away from her.

“There is no forgiveness to be had.”

Cassandra shook her head.

“If you are so determined to blame yourself, I cannot sway you. But if we wait a bit longer to leave, we can let them catch up to us and--”

“No.”

Cullen stood, sliding his sword back into its hilt. He met Cassandra’s icy glare with a look of sorrowful determination.

“We march an hour before dawn.”  
  
And he brushed past her, ducking into his tent.


	5. Cavalry

A cool evening mist had settled around the riders’ camp. Freya ate her dinner in silence, sitting on her coiled bedroll in front of the roaring blaze at the center of their party. She tried to ignore the burning sensation in her mouth as she chewed her fish.

“Andraste’s tits, Bull,” Dorian was saying, fanning a hand in front of his mouth. “Your _food_ should come with a safe word. This is scarier than anything you do in the bedroom.”

“You know, that’s _really_ more information than strictly necessary,” Solas replied. He’d given up on his fish and was intermittently guzzling water to try to extinguish the heat in his mouth.

“I dunno,” Sera said, eyeing the Iron Bull. “I could stand to hear more.”

“Seriously, though,” Varric choked, coughing, “what is this rubbed with?”

“I didn’t want it to be bland,” said the Qunari with a shrug. “We like our food spicy in the Chargers.”

“ _Spicy_ is one thing,” replied Dorian as Freya stood and went over to rummage through their rations for something, “But this is _lethal._ ”

“ _Ea durlahn!_ ” Freya snapped at them, throwing a sack of hardtack into the middle of the circle of people. “If you don’t like Bull’s fish, don’t eat it. But I can’t listen to any more of this.”

She strode to the edge of their camp, hands on her hips, and stared in the direction they’d been tracking the Commander and his marching troops. Ordinarily, she enjoyed the banter between her friends, and she was usually more than happy to join in herself. It was what kept them all sane on their long journeys across Thedas together. But she had been so all-consumed by worry for the last week and a half that tonight, all it did was set her even more on edge.

They should have caught up _ages_ ago, she thought to herself. But there had been so many delays. She was frustrated beyond words. She kicked angrily at a small, flat rock, which flew several feet and landed with a thud.

“You okay, Inquisitor?” asked a voice beside her. She looked down to see Varric standing there, arms crossed. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he held his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. Dumb question.”

Freya heaved a sigh, rubbing her temples with her fingertips.

“ _Ir abelas_ , Varric… I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t take it out on you guys,” she said, her face softening. “I’m just… we should have caught up by now. He must be running those troops from dawn ‘til dusk to keep that kind of pace. If it hadn’t been for that blocked passage in the Frostbacks, and then getting held back at the docks in Kirkwall…”

“Isabela felt awful about that,” the dwarf told her. “But she had to muscle through that storm, and her ship hasn’t got wings.”

“I don’t blame your friend,” Freya said. “She didn’t have to help us, but she did it anyway.”

She sat down on the damp grass, picking up another smooth stone and turning it over in her hands. “Do you have family, Varric?”

“Not any blood, no. Not since my brother Bartrand died.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” she said. There was a moment’s pause as she thought about her own siblings. “I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I’ll never see my little brothers again. Or my _mamae_. It still feels like it’s just a dream, like I’ll wake up soon and none of it will have happened.”

She looked down at the rock, rubbing her thumb over it.

“What if I lose _him_ , too? I won’t have anyone left…” She trailed off, trying to banish that thought from her mind.

“Can I tell you something, Inquisitor?”

Varric looked up at the moonlit rims of dark clouds passing over the stars above them.

“There are two kinds of family. There’s the kind you’re born with, and the kind you choose. With the first kind, you’re never quite sure what you’re gonna get. It sounds like yours was pretty great, and I’m truly sorry for you that they’re gone. But being born into a decent family isn’t ever guaranteed. Take Bartrand, for instance. He was a real slimeball. Left me and Hawke to die in the Deep Roads so he could make off with that lyrium idol we found. Drove him even more crazy once he got back to the surface, and then he up and died.”

Freya hugged her knees close, crossing her arms in front of them.

“Wow,” she said quietly. “That’s awful.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, a sardonic smile on his lips. “But the family you get to _choose?_  They’re a different story. You think if Curly died tomorrow, we’d leave you all alone? Nug shit, Inquisitor. You’ve got five people here tonight who saddled up to come and fight the sodding _Red Templars_ with you. And it’s not just because we’re on the Inquisition’s payroll. We’re gonna make sure you and your Commander make it out of this alive. But in spite of what happened to your clan, and whatever happens tomorrow or the next day, or a year from now,  _you’ve got family_. Don’t let me hear you doubting that again.”

The elf swallowed hard, blinking back the salty tears that were threatening to tumble over her cheeks and looking down at the rock in her hand. She tossed it a few feet in front of her as Varric turned to head back to the rest of their friends.

“By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “the hardtack was a smart idea. It was like dumping sand on a fire. Even  _chewed_ like sand...”

Freya’s mouth curled into a half-smile as she listened to his footsteps retreating. Someone at the fire must have said something funny, because she heard laughter coming from their direction, Bull’s booming roar louder than the rest. She stared out into the distance, straining her eyes for any sign of life, but if Cullen and his men had lit a fire of their own, it was too far for her to see.

She wondered if he was thinking about her, too, if he knew they were following yet. And if he did, why hadn’t he waited for her?  
  
The cold dew from the grass was slowly soaking through her pants, and Freya realized she was beginning to shiver. She stood, looking at the circle of faces lit by the bright, crackling campfire. Varric’s words had steeled her, and she headed back to where she knew she would be enveloped by warmth.


	6. The Battle on the Hill

“Watch your flank, Commander!”

Cullen wheeled around in answer to Cassandra’s warning. His sword arced through the air, making contact and sending a Templar soldier staggering backward.

Cassandra pushed through the ranks toward him. He felt her back close in against his as they circled together, fending off blades with their shields.

“We’re outnumbered three to one,” he yelled over the din. “But not all of these are Red Templars. Some of these soldiers are sick!”

“The lyrium?” Cassandra asked, hilting her sword in an enemy’s chest. He fell to the ground with a satisfying thud.

“That’s my guess!” His shield connected with a Templar’s helmet. The crack reverberated through the air. The Templar answered with the butt of his sword, and Cullen tasted blood. He spat, then slashed his blade into the man’s neck. The Templar staggered sideways, a fountain of red spraying from beneath his visor.

There was one huge man leading the enemy forces, a Red Templar Knight-Commander wielding a flail in one hand and a huge blade in the other. Other Templars surrounded him, forming a barrier. Cullen pointed his sword.

“That’s their commander! We need to get to him.”

Cassandra nodded. They began working their way toward where he stood. The Seeker had never seen Cullen fight like this. He was ruthless, thirsty for their blood. His sword swung left and right, cutting men down with ease.

She eyed the circle of Templars that had formed around the Knight-Commander. Their own ranks had thinned, and she doubted many of the remaining Inquisition forces would be able to break through.

She and Cullen were on their own to get to the center of that ring.

 

_________________________

 

The loud clanking of metal and the screams of dying men reached Freya’s ears half a mile from the battle, and she squeezed her knees into her stag, urging him to canter faster. He bugled loudly as he sprinted forward.

They crested the top of a large hill, and Freya’s eyes searched the chaos for Cullen. Dead men lay everywhere, mostly Templars and Wycome soldiers. But she recognized her own men among them, as well. Her troops had thinned the enemy to a fair fight. One group remained.

A circle of troops from both sides were clashing around a large Red Templar wearing the armor of a Knight-Commander. Red lyrium sprouted from crimson veins that criss-crossed his skin.

“That’s their leader,” Freya called, gesturing. She scanned the troops in front of them and spotted Cassandra’s Seeker armor. Then, her heart leaping, she recognized a red cloak topped with fur, and a very distinctive helm. “Cullen!” she cried, pointing her dagger. “There they are!”

The six riders barrelled ahead. Inquisition troops dashed out of the way as Freya’s stag led the charge. The huge animal impaled Templars as he ran and tossed them aside like ragdolls. The elf leapt deftly up onto her feet, readying herself to jump as she crouched on his back.

_________________________

 

Cullen drove his sword through the gap in a Templar’s visor. The blade stuck, and he aimed a kick at the man’s chest to free it.

They were almost to the Knight-Commander. Cassandra slammed her shield into a knight’s helm, denting it. He staggered backward, and she stabbed her blade into his chest.

A keening wail reached Cullen’s ears. There was no mistaking the call of Freya’s stag. He felt his stomach drop and he cursed. He’d meant to _finish_ this before she could place herself in danger. He screamed angrily, lashing out with renewed fury. His sword sung through the air, and the head of a Templar rolled off and bounced away, the body slumping to the ground.

“Reinforcements!” called Cassandra. “Thank the Maker.”

She whirled, readying to slash at a ranking Templar soldier. Before she could raise her sword, a crossbow bolt shot through the man’s neck, the point sticking out from under his helm. The Templar gurgled and fell forward.

“Good shot, dwarf,” she said, smiling to herself, and she turned to fight the next enemy.

  
_________________________

 

Freya soared off her mount, landing with daggers drawn. She slapped her stag’s rear, urging him to leave the fight and head to safety. A Templar lashed out at him, slicing into his flank. Freya leapt at the knight, driving her dagger under his arm into his chest.

“ _Dirthara-ma!_ ” she cried. Her enemy hunched over, and she slit his throat. Blood sprayed the ground as he fell over, dead.

The riders had all dismounted. Flashes of purple light flew from Dorian’s fingertips, and Templars scattered in terror. Bull was cutting through three men at a time, his battleax making short work of their enemies. Sera ran around the edge of the battle with Varric. Their well-aimed shots picked off the men who escaped Bull’s swings. The rest of the red soldiers were quickly finished off.

Solas eyed the Knight-Commander hungrily.

“ _Ar’an judala i’tel lanaste!_ ” he shouted at Freya. “For Clan Lavellan!”

Rallied, she slashed at knights in her path. She saw Cullen sink his sword into a Red Templar whose hands had completely _become_ lyrium crystals. As the man fell, she saw him turn to face the Knight-Commander.

The Templar advanced, and he swung his flail at Cullen. It wrapped around Cullen’s sword, and the Knight-Commander flicked it effortlessly out of his hands. His other arm swung, slashing at Cullen’s waist. Freya watched with horror as he hunched over, falling to the ground.

“No!” she cried.

Solas let out an angry bellow, and green light shot from his hands. The Knight-Commander was blasted backward. He staggered to his feet, and Solas shot another ball of energy at him, paralyzing his body. Dorian was leaning over Cullen, muttering incantations, his hand on the wound that had begun to soak Cullen’s clothing with a spreading crimson stain.

Freya rushed forward. The Knight-Commander was smiling at her as she approached, spitting blood from between his teeth.

“Another one,” he said, mirth evident in his words. “I killed one that looked just like you. Great ugly vines tattooed all over her face. She died on her knees, weeping for her _heathen gods_ to save her. I wonder if you will, too.”

Solas’s magic had blasted the Templar’s plate armor askew. Freya marched up to him, pulled it aside, and sank a dagger hilt-deep into his belly.

“ _We are the last of the Elvehnan,_ ” she hissed, “ _and never again shall we submit_.”

She ripped the dagger sideways and withdrew it. The Knight-Commander fell to his knees, intestines spilling out of the gash in his belly in a long stream, like the chain of an anchor that had just been dropped. He slumped over, gurgling. Solas was staring at Freya with a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

Cassandra stepped forward, her sword aloft. She made as if to swing it down on the Knight-Commander’s neck.

" _No_.”

Freya’s voice was like ice.

“We must make sure, Inquisitor,” Cassandra told her.

“She has a point,” Varric agreed. “After Corypheus--”

“Then _stand there_ and watch him  _die._ ” she said. “Take his head afterward, bring it home in a fucking basket for all I care. But do not show him mercy by finishing him off! This man suffers until his _last breath_.”

She stepped over his convulsing body, her boot splashing in his blood, and walked to where Dorian was cradling Cullen’s head. The Commander appeared unconscious.

“How is he?” she asked urgently. “Will he…?”

“He’ll make it. He was lucky, it was a shallow blow. He needs rest and tending to, but he’ll be fine.”

Freya threw her arms around Dorian’s neck.

“Thank you, Dorian,” she said. “If you hadn’t been here…”

Dorian patted her arm awkwardly.

“There, there. Happy to help. Drinks are on you next time we’re at the tavern, though.”

She laughed, nodding.

“Anything you want.”

She stood, surveying the field. The Inquisition troops who had survived were walking among the fallen, finishing off any Templars who still breathed and calling for aid for their comrades.

“We need to set up camp,” she called. “Bury the dead and tend the wounded. Bull, I’ll need you to help me here.”

The Qunari walked toward her, wiping blood off his cheek.

“Boss?”

“Can you carry him to camp?” she asked. Bull nodded, picking the Commander up easily. Freya reached up and unbuckled his helm. Pulling it off his head, she ran a hand along his cheek, her fingers scraping his rough stubble.

“ _Ma'vheraan_ ,” she whispered. _"My lion."_

She kissed his forehead, then nodded back at Bull, who lumbered toward the edge of the field and down the hill with Dorian and Freya at his heels.


	7. Reconciliation

“I’ve sent word back to Skyhold. I told them to prepare for the remainder of us to arrive in two weeks’ time. It should give the men some time to rest.”

Cullen’s ears rang. He heard the words as if they were coming to him through a helmet stuffed full of cotton fluff. He swallowed, the metallic taste of stale blood heavy on his tongue. He detected a flickering light of some kind through his closed eyelids, and he could smell burning coals. And there was another scent, too--a slight floral note, an afterthought in the warm air.

Embrium flowers.

He was also aware of someone washing his arm with a warm cloth. Someone with long, soft fingers.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light of a brazier burning nearby. He was lying on a paliasse in his tent, and kneeling next to him on the ground he saw the Inquisitor come into focus. She was looking up--presumably at the person talking--and she rubbed a soft cloth dampened with hot water along his arm, scrubbing gently.

“We’ll ride home ahead of you as soon as he’s ready,” Freya replied. She looked back down at him and her breath caught in her throat as she realized his eyes had opened.

Cassandra heard the soft gasp and looked up from the sheet of paper she was reading.

“Welcome back, Commander,” she said, coming over to the bed. “You gave us all a scare.”

She may as well not have said anything, she thought to herself. The Commander only had eyes for Freya, and he gave no sign he’d heard Cassandra at all. She looked at the Inquisitor with a small, knowing smile on her face.

“I’ll leave you,” she said. The elf nodded, and the Seeker slipped out of the tent.

Looking down, Freya dunked the cloth into a steaming bucket. Her hands were red from the heat of the water, but she seemed not to notice. She wrung the cloth out and pulled her eyes back up to Cullen’s body, moving the cloth over his bare chest this time. He looked down and saw that the wound he’d been dealt had been magically healed, though it looked like it would likely still leave an impressive scar. Dried red-brown blood caked his skin, making it feel cracked and tight. He wondered how much of it was his.

“How long have I been out?” he asked her, his voice hoarse.

“An hour,” she answered quietly, “or maybe four. I’ve lost track.”

He watched her wash his body in silence for a moment, her touch even more tender as she moved over his belly where the Knight-Commander’s sword had slashed him. He moved his gaze up to study her face as she worked. She had a long gash on her temple, surrounded by a dark purple bruise. He reached up to smooth her hair away from it.

“Someone cut you.”

“Bashed.”

“What?”

“Someone _bashed_ me. It was the edge of a shield.”

“It looks painful.”

“I’ll live,” she said, squeezing water out of the cloth again. “You should see the _other_ guy.”

“Inquisitor, I... I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“Sorry, no ‘Inquisitor’ here,” she told him, scrubbing at one last particularly stubborn spot on his stomach. “Just the woman who chased you halfway across Thedas to stop you martyring yourself at the business end of a Red Templar’s sword.”

“Damn it, Freya,  _stop_ that for a minute, will you?” he croaked. “I want to _talk_ to you.”

She dropped the cloth down with a splash.

“At least you got it right that time,” she said, reaching for a waterskin. “Here. Your voice sounds like you’ve been gargling caltrops.”

Cullen begrudgingly sat up halfway, taking it and drawing in a mouthful. It swirled around over his tongue, becoming tainted with the taste of rancid blood, and he pulled a face. Freya held the bucket up.

“I was done with this anyway. Spit.”

He leaned over and let loose a stream of brown-tinged water into the pail. Taking another draw from the skin, he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Freya reached out to help ease him back down onto the mattress. He sighed, rolling his head to look at her.

“I didn’t think you’d follow me,” he told her after a moment. “You were so _angry_. I thought you’d be glad to have me gone.”

“Of course I was angry,” she said, looking incredulous. “My whole family had just been murdered. But that doesn’t mean I wanted-- Was that _really_ what you thought?”

“I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at me in the war room that day, Freya.”

“Cullen, I was upset. I was looking for someone to blame.”

“You weren’t wrong,” he said, sadness etched onto his features.

“No, I _was_ wrong,” she insisted, reaching for his arm. “Every decision we make at that table, we make _together_. All four of us, as a _team_. We all had a hand in this. None of us is more culpable than anyone else. Once I had time to think about anything other than my anger and my sadness, that was pretty clear. If anything, this has just shown me how _careful_ we have to be from now on. It’s so easy to see all of this as just little pieces being shuffled around on a table, like a big, complicated game. But these are _real people’s lives_ we’re dealing in. We can’t lose sight of that.”

She paused, feeling her eyes beginning to sting.

“But what made me the most upset was that you _left_ me there, having just lost all my people. You walked out of Skyhold--marched off to _battle,_ where you could have _died_ \--without so much as a goodbye!”

Her voice broke on the last word and she leaned forward into him, forehead resting against his warm skin, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“Freya, I’m _so_ sorry. For all of it.”

He held her as hot tears poured over her cheeks, swallowing back the lump in his own throat as he listened to her cry. She pulled away from him after a few minutes, and he brushed his thumbs over her freckled skin, wiping away the wet tracks that lingered there.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked.

“Only if you swear you won’t _ever_ do that to me again,” she said. “I can’t lose you too, Cullen. I _can’t_. I know I’m all piss and vinegar and bad jokes on the outside, but in reality I’m just a scared little girl who’s never stayed more than a month in one place or done anything remotely important before now. I don’t have anything to go back to when all this is over, and a future with _you…_ some days it’s the only thing that gets me out of bed.”

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, locking his gaze on hers. One solitary tear had escaped his eye and was trailing down toward his jaw.

“I _swear_ ,” he whispered. “I swear I will do a better job as your Commander. I swear I will never stop fighting for that future together. And I swear I will _always_ kiss you goodbye.”

Freya let out a sob and nodded vigorously, sniffling.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

She flung herself forward and kissed him. Cullen pulled her body close, one hand tangling itself in her messy hair and the other cradling the small of her back.

“That,” said a voice behind them, “does _not_ look like resting.”

Freya whipped around and narrowed her red-rimmed eyes at Dorian, who had just poked his head in to check on Cullen. He withered at the Inquisitor’s glare, raising his hands, and his mustache twitched as his mouth turned up into a grin.

“Fine, fine. Carry on.” He shot a glance at Cullen, his eyes lingering on the Commander’s bare chest. “Maker knows _I_ would.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up as the mage ducked back out of the tent.

“What a _pervert_ ,” he said, and he delighted in the feeling of Freya giggling against his mouth as she pressed her lips to his again.

He allowed himself to get lost in her hungry kisses, eager to make good use of what little time they had alone together before they were consumed once more by their duties to the Inquisition.


End file.
